


Your Turn

by mific



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bottom John Sheppard, Community: satedan_grabass, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fanfiction, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 23:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11368104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: John's not really cut out for this Taskmastery shit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cassie Morgan (BADFalcon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BADFalcon/gifts).



> Nothing much happens in this except porn, but John and Ronon do figure a few things out with their dynamic. It was written for the 2017 John/Ronon-Thing-a-Thon exchange, for Satedan Grabass, as a gift for Cassie (BADfalcon) whose prompts were: powerplay, hurt/comfort, and "on your knees". Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> ETA: aaand, complete timing fail with this, as it's not due until July 30th, it turns out. Oops, sorry!

~~~~~~

John slumped under the shower, propping himself in the corner and letting the almost too-hot water sluice over him. It had been a godawful mission, and he didn't want to think about it, but even the drumming of the water wasn't entirely drowning out his memories of the villagers' screams as Wraith culling beams swept up warriors and elders, men, women and children alike.

They'd saved everyone they could but the jumper could only hold so many. The traumatized remnants of the village were being settled into temporary guest quarters now, and would be taken to a refugee settlement once they'd recovered. To the degree that you _could_ recover from your people nearly being wiped out.

The door chimed, and John sighed and shut off the shower with a thought. He was pretty sure he knew who it'd be. Ronon, poster boy for survivor guilt, and John's . . . his what? Boyfriend? Lover? Occasional sub? This thing where John played the taskmaster and Ronon got down on his knees and sucked him off like Satedan recruits apparently used to do was pretty new, and John wasn't entirely sure how they'd managed to slide into it. Ronon could be persuasive.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, I'm coming!" he called, grabbing a towel and drying his hair quickly, then the rest of him, before wrapping a fresh towel around his waist and emerging from the steamed-up bathroom.

He figured he knew what Ronon wanted from him, and it wasn't as though John was going to say no, not to _Ronon_ —not when missions like today were bound to be even tougher on him. It was just . . . hell, he was dog-tired, and feeling crappy about not having been able to save more of the villagers, was all. There were times when he didn't feel much like a taskmaster. Times he didn't _want_ to be a taskmaster. Most of the time when they weren't in the field, to be honest.

 _Suck it up_ , he told himself tiredly, running a hand through his damp hair, and padded across in his bare feet to open the door.

Ronon ran his eyes up and down John's towel-clad body, his face impassive, then he quirked a grin and hefted a six-pack of beers. "Hi." His gaze was appreciative, but there was an element of careful appraisal as well.

John wasn't feeling up to being appraised, not tonight. He raised his eyebrows, stepped aside and waved Ronon in.

Ronon sat on the couch, and John sat on his bed, and they drank their beers in near silence. Normally, John liked that about Ronon—he was restful, with no unnecessary chatter. But tonight, he kind of missed Rodney's endless stream of commentary and asides. The silence felt heavy, expectant, and John could feel himself resisting the unspoken expectations, digging his heels in. He grimaced. Shit. He was going to have to say something.

He cleared his throat. "So . . . tough mission today."

Ronon grunted affirmatively. Way to hold up your end of the conversation, buddy. John took another swig of beer. "You, ah, you wanna watch a movie?"

"Nah," Ronon said, finishing his beer, crushing the can and throwing it at the Athosian basket John used for a waste bin. Bulls-eye.

"Ookay," John said. "Whatcha wanna do then?" Dumb question, and Ronon arched a sarcastic eyebrow at him.

"Thought we should have sex."

John sighed. "Yeah. Well, just let me have another beer, and I'll try to channel some of that taskmaster vibe."

"Thought you might like me to look after you, for a change," Ronon said. "Especially after today."

John brightened. Maybe he could lie back on the bed for the blowjob instead of having to stand over Ronon and try to boss him about. "Yeah? That'd do it for you, if I lay back here instead?" He set his empty can on the nightstand. "I can still, y'know, say toppy things. Taskmastery stuff."

Ronon suppressed a smile, then got to his feet. "Not what I meant. I think I should top you tonight, take care of you." He began unlacing his pants.

John watched him, mouth open. "Ah, I'm not sure how making me do all the work is the same as looking after me, buddy." Ronon had his cock in his hand now, and was giving it firm strokes. John sat there transfixed, unable to take his eyes off Ronon's hand and his rapidly filling cock. His mouth watered a little and he swallowed.

Ronon moved into his personal space, nudging John's thighs apart. The towel came undone but John barely noticed it fall away. This close, he could smell Ronon: sweat and maleness and the salty, sharp tang of sex. "If you're really not sure, then we should've been doing it this way all along," Ronon said quietly. His big left hand curled around the back of John's head, sliding into his hair and pulling him forward. Pulling him onto Ronon's cock.

John shut his eyes and opened his mouth with a sense of relief and rightness. He mouthed the head of Ronon's cock, licked it and sucked gently, and then Ronon nudged forward and John opened wider and let Ronon slide further into his mouth. He moved his tongue against the shaft and brought his right hand up to hold the base of Ronon's cock and stop him pushing in too far. Not really needed; Ronon was being careful, rocking into his mouth with small thrusts of his hips, one hand gentle in John's hair, the other on his shoulder.

John heard himself moan, and Ronon sucked in a breath and said "Yeah, like _that_ ," in a low, rough voice. "Suck it."

John moaned again, unable to stop himself. Ronon tasted so good, and man, he _loved_ sucking cock; he'd forgotten how much he loved it. No good dreaming about the old days in the clubs, not when he was the motherfucking military commander of Atlantis. But Ronon didn't give a shit about the rules. John could have this with him and god, he wanted it.

He relaxed his throat and took Ronon further in, stroking the shaft of his cock as he sucked, really getting into it, losing himself in the hot, heavy cock in his mouth and throat, filling him. His own cock was rock hard and he was tempted to slip his other hand down and squeeze—

Ronon growled and John put his hand back on Ronon's leather-clad thigh. He opened his eyes and looked up through his lashes. "No," Ronon said, stroking his hair. "Don’t touch yourself unless I say."

John shivered, even more turned on by Ronon's implacable gentleness, the natural command in his voice. He shut his eyes and gave himself over to sucking Ronon's cock, wrapping his arms around Ronon's thighs and clinging there, helplessly aroused, while Ronon held his head in both hands and fucked his mouth.

Ronon pulled back and John chased blindly after his cock, a whimper of disappointment escaping him. "C'mon," Ronon said. "Up on the bed. I'm gonna fuck you. You got any slick?"

"Yeah, I, yeah . . ." John fumbled with the nightstand drawer, got it open and the tube out. He put it on the nightstand and held up a condom packet. "Um . . ."

"Want me to use one of those skins? I can hold off from coming without it, and you know Beckett checks us all. I'm clean."

"Yeah," John said huskily. "Yeah. Me too." He dropped the packet back in the drawer.

"Hands and knees," Ronon said. He was naked now, having stripped off his pants and shirt while John got the lube. John stared at him for a moment, figuring he must look like one of those old-time saints gazing rapturously up at paradise. Ronon grinned and said "now, John," and John flushed, scrambling up on the bed then getting on all fours and spreading his legs wider—well, as wide as the goddamn narrow bed allowed—and letting his head sink down on his crossed arms. He felt wanton and exposed and blindingly turned on. His breathing was fast and ragged, and he couldn't help flexing his spine, thrusting into the air. He must look like, like . . . He made a desperate noise then muffled his mouth on his forearm.

The bed shifted and Ronon knelt behind him. He splayed a big hand in the small of John's back, and that helped, grounding him a little. Ronon slid a slippery finger over John's hole, playing with him. John groaned again and moved his ass. God, he must look like a complete slut, but he wanted, he _wanted_.

"Yeah," Ronon said, his voice deep and gravely. He pushed the finger into John, stretching him, and it was good, but John wanted more. He pushed himself back on Ronon's finger and Ronon said "Quit it," and slapped his ass. John's hips jerked involuntarily and he moaned. "Mmm. Good to know," Ronon said. "Another time." He slid a second finger in, stretching John wider.

John writhed, unable to hold still as Ronon's long fingers sent shivers of pleasure through him. "Want . . . now," he gasped. "C'mon . . . _fuck!_ Do me."

"Not yet. One more."

John panted and took the third finger and it burned, but John didn’t give a shit. Ronon was a withholding bastard, and John was going to explode into a million pieces before he got Ronon's goddamn dick in him. He whined and bit his arm.

Ronon pulled his fingers out and John felt empty. He _wanted,_ he _needed_. " _Please_ ," he gasped. "Please, Ronon, _please_ —"

"Yeah," rasped Ronon, and pushed in, gripping John's hips and working his way in with shallow thrusts. John's legs shook and he panted and rode the burn and stretch. Fuck, Ronon was big and hot and he didn't just feel _filled_ , he felt _impaled_. Then Ronon shifted, braced himself, gripped John's hips more tightly and began fucking him, deep and hard.

John heard himself moaning and crying out, braced as best he could as Ronon pounded him into the bed. It was so good, and Christ, he'd needed this so badly, for so long. He'd always liked big guys in the clubs. He wasn't a small guy, but he'd always liked them taller than he was.

Ronon curved over him, covering him and holding him, making John take his cock as he fucked him hard until the bed was rocking and banging into the wall. John collapsed down onto the covers, his legs splayed, froglike, and Ronon rode him down, pinning him, and there was nothing but Ronon in him and all around, and John had to, he couldn't, he was going to—

" _Please_ ," he sobbed. "Please let me, I need to—"

"Yeah," Ronon snarled, thrusting impossibly deeper and biting John on the back of his neck. " _Come_ for me."

John convulsed, crying out, his dick jerking as it rubbed against the covers, spurting. Ronon grunted and thrust hard again, once, twice, three times, then he froze for a long moment, sighed and stilled.

It was going to be too much, soon, Ronon's weight on him, blanketing him and making it hard to breathe, but for now it was exactly what John wanted. He felt safe and small and protected, his body loose and easy. He felt happy.

After a while, Ronon eased back and pulled out. John yelped and Ronon shushed him. "Stay there," he said, going to the bathroom. He came back with a warm washcloth and cleaned John's ass carefully, then Ronon got him to roll over and pulled off the trashed bedspread, cleaning John's belly.

"I can—" John said, reaching for the cloth, but Ronon pushed him back.

"Let me." He cleaned John's cock and balls gently, then he made John get under the covers, before taking the cloth back to the bathroom.

John lay there drowsily listening to the water running, and then Ronon was back, sliding into the bed beside him. John curled into him and Ronon put an arm around him and pulled him close until John's head was on his shoulder.

John tangled their legs together. "Thanks," he said, yawning. "I needed that."

"Yeah, I figured," Ronon said, his voice soft with amusement.

John snuggled closer. "Thought you wanted me to be the taskmaster. Y'know, to be all commanding and shit," he said into Ronon's chest.

"Nah," Ronon said, and John felt the words rumbling under his cheek. "You're my taskmaster, sure. Means my job's to look after you and give you what you want. Some taskmasters like to be the boss. Some don't."

"Guess we figured out which sort I am," John said, around another jaw-cracking yawn. "That okay?"

"Yeah," Ronon said, yawning in turn. "I wanna look after you. You've got a sweet ass and a mouth made for fucking. What's not to like?"

"Jesus, don't get me all turned on again," John snorted into Ronon's armpit.

"I'll spank you next time; you'll like that," Ronon said thoughtfully.

"Bastard," whimpered John. "How'm I going to get to sleep _now_?"

 "Shhh," Ronon said. "No more talking." His fingers combed through John's hair and he hummed something, a tune John didn't recognize.

"Mmmngph," John said, and slept.

~~~~~~

 


	2. On Your Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's been bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of porn! As an extra gift and an apology to Cassie Morgan (BADfalcon) for completely messing up the posting date of Satedan Grabass and posting a whole month early. /o\ John's not the only one who needs spanking!

~~~~~~

"Hey, buddy," John said, opening the door of his room to Ronon. He felt a pleasant thrill of anticipation low in his belly as Ronon brushed past him and the door hissed closed.

Ronon had stopped just inside the room though, which was a little odd. Usually he sat down on the bed and they bitched about the new Marines and had a beer or three, before things heated up.

"Ah, Ronon? Everything okay?"

Ronon turned, frowning. "You know it's not."

Hell, what had happened? John rapidly reviewed the day to figure out why Ronon was pissed, but nothing special came to mind. Yeah, the city was out of dark chocolate until the next Daedalus run, and Rodney had gone on and on at dinner about Martindale crashing the long-range sensors and wasting hours of everyone's time, but that was par for the course. John lifted his hands. "Help me out here, buddy?"

Ronon took a step forward, glaring down at John. "Don't play the innocent, Sheppard. You know what you did."

"Me?" It came out a little more like a squeak than John'd intended. He couldn’t think of anything, except . . ."You don't mean stealing that muffin at dinner?"

" _My_ muffin." Ronon crossed his arms. "It was banana chocolate chip," he growled.

"Hey, I know they're your favorites but I was just fooling around, big guy. I'm sorry. Didn't mean anything by it." John bit his lip. Damn. If Ronon really _was_ upset that pretty much trashed his chances of getting laid tonight.

"Sorry's not gonna cut it," Ronon said, looking grim. "You'll have to be punished."

"Punished?" And again with the squeaking, for Christ's sake. John stared up into Ronon's face, searching for a twinkle in his eye, some sign this was a joke, but Ronon was implacable. John shivered, unaccountably turned on, and that was fucked up, getting hard just because Ronon . . . oh, right, _punished_.

He swallowed and bowed his head, which felt right for the scene and had the added advantage of letting him check out Ronon's crotch. Oh yeah, definitely some interest there. John grinned to himself and shut his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting himself sink into the zone.  

"Strip," Ronon ordered, and John obeyed. He couldn't make a show out of it as he was only wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt, but he folded them neatly on the couch, then stepped back to stand before Ronon again, his head lowered.

"On your knees," Ronon said, and John went down with a shudder of anticipation. He rested his hands on his thighs and kept his head bowed.

"Hands behind your back," Ronon ordered, and John clasped them there, the position pushing his chest forward and making him lift his head. He kept his eyes closed.

"Undo my pants," Ronon said.

John considered that, then opened an eye and peered up at Ronon. He was supposed to keep his hands clasped behind his back, so did that mean—?

"You heard me," Ronon said. "Use your teeth."

John eyed the leather lacings dubiously, then leaned in and worried at one end of the thong until he got it in his teeth, leaning back and twisting his head to pull it free, feeling bizarrely like a puppy with a toy. Not entirely inaccurate, maybe. With the main tie undone, he leaned back in for close-up work, mouthing the leather as he caught the lacing between each eyehole and drew it out. He made sure to breathe heavily on the hard line of Ronon's dick as he went, until Ronon slid a hand into his hair and tugged it, pulling his head back. John's cock went from half hard to _really goddamn interested_ in no time and his eyelids drooped involuntarily.

"You're getting slobber on the leather, Sheppard," Ronon said, frowning in disapproval. "That's high quality ulan-hide from Darros. It's expensive."

"Sorry," John whispered, not feeling very sorry. His cock was leaking and he felt reckless and wanton. He pressed forward against the hand in his hair, wanting to get his mouth back on the bulge of Ronon's dick.

"Told you, sorry won’t cut it." Ronon took his arm and pulled him up to his feet. He stood, swaying a little, blinking, then Ronon sat on the bed and beckoned to him. "C'mon. Face down."

Face down? Oh, across Ronon's lap. John swallowed and tried to arrange himself somehow, finally propping himself with his hands out in front and his feet behind, his cock in between Ronon's thighs. Which were covered in the pricey goddamn ulan-hide. "Um, Ronon?"

"What?"

"Sorry about the slobber, but I gotta say, I'm liable to get more . . . bodily fluids on your pants like this. Maybe a towel?"

"No towel," Ronon said firmly. "You gotta learn control, Sheppard. No muffin-stealing, and no coming on my pants. If you do I'll _really_ punish you and you sure as shit won’t like it."

John's mouth was dry. "Okay. I'll, I'll try."

"There is no try," Ronon said, and before John could rib him about watching too many _Star Wars_ movies, his hand came down _smack_ on John's ass.

John jerked and whimpered, his ass burning and tingling. Crap, he could feel his dick leaking. He eased back a little so as to give it maximum leeway in the gap between Ronon's legs, even though he really wanted to rub it against that expensive leather. _Crack!_ Ronon set up a steady rhythm of smacks, his hand huge and hard, and John gasped and panted and tried not to jerk his hips, tried not to imagine how his ass must look, red and glowing, up in the air, exposed. Vulnerable. He writhed and moaned, fighting not to come, not to let himself press forward and rub off on Ronon's thigh.

Ronon's hand was in his hair again, pushing him down, and John lost his balance, lost his grip on the rug and on everything and just lay there, letting Ronon smack his tender, glowing ass until his moans turned into sobs, wetness running down his cheeks.

He was dimly aware of Ronon pulling him up and cradling him, rocking him and stroking his hair until the sniffling stopped. John resisted the urge to wipe his nose on Ronon's shirt; besides, it was the one that seemed to have been knitted out of string.

After a while, Ronon gently pushed John off his lap and stood, pulling off his clothes and boots and grabbing the lube from the nightstand drawer, setting it on the bed. John took a quick moment to wipe his face on the bedspread.

Ronon sat back down and manhandled John into his lap, so he was straddling Ronon. "Kneel up, legs apart," he said. John obliged, hands on Ronon's shoulder as he was opened and stretched. His cock, which had flagged a little during the spanking, perked up again. John bit his lip and tried not to writhe on Ronon's fingers too much, but he felt broken open and it was hard not to let his neediness show, not to give in and moan, fucking himself on those long fingers.

He did moan when Ronon positioned his cock and got John to sink down on it. His bruised, burning ass and thighs stung deliciously when Ronon was all the way in, and John's legs felt like jelly, barely able to support him. Ronon took no notice, gripping John and thrusting up into him. John let himself be held and used and taken, dropping his head forward onto Ronon's shoulder and clinging on.

His swollen cock rubbed against Ronon's belly as he was fucked, deliciously slippery with sweat and its own wetness, and John was distantly aware that he was making soft animal grunts and whimpers, blown past words. Ronon rolled them over and really went to town, pushing John's legs up and hammering himself home, every thrust a torment of pain-pleasure from John's abused ass until Ronon grunted, cursed, and went still. He rolled off and stretched on his back, and John lay there, ass throbbing, feeling like the root system of a tree, splayed out on the bed with his dick standing up like a tree-trunk. Well, maybe a sapling.

Ronon grinned across at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sure," John said. "Got a little problem with some stiffness . . ." he waved a hand at his neglected cock.

"Mmhmm," Ronon said, eyeing it. He pushed some pillows up against the head of the bed and sat back against them. "C'mere." John crawled over and Ronon made him lie between his legs so his back was against Ronon's chest. His sore ass was tender on the covers but John didn’t mind—he kind of liked it.

Ronon got some lube and wrapped his big hand around John's dick, jerking him with long firm pulls, just right, thumb swiping across the head. John fucked up into his hand, not caring about the burn from being spanked, wanting more, noisy and helpless and totally fucking gone.

Ronon growled and bit down where his neck met his shoulder, and John cried out and came, whiting out. He was dimly aware of being rolled and then cleaned up, pushed in under the covers, and wrapped in Ronon's arms.

"Thanks," John muttered, yawning hugely.

Ronon snorted. "Get some sleep. It's Senior Staff weekly report tomorrow morning."

"Oh, man," John moaned, "I'm not gonna be able to sit through a two hour meeting."

"Should've thought of that before you stole my muffin."

"Think anyone'd notice if I brought a cushion?" He could practically hear Ronon smirk into the back of his neck. "Yeah, maybe not. Fuck."

"Go to sleep, John," Ronon said.

"Okay," John said, and did.

 

~~~~~~


End file.
